


the world does not stop

by MashpotatoeQueen5



Series: let's dance in the kitchen and call it something like love [3]
Category: Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Apocalypse, Bart Allen Needs A Hug, Bart Allen is Impulse, Bart Knows Better than Most, Because otherwise I'll fight you, Cassie Sandsmark Deserves The World, Cassie Sandsmark Needs Love, Cave-In, Characterization? From One Direct Source? ME?, Childhood Trauma, Concussions, Dancing, Dancing as a Coping Mechanism, Even if it has no plot significance, Explosions, Explosives, Fights, Gen, Healing, I just collab and hope for the best, I will make that a tag, Male-Female Friendship, Panic Attacks, Please assume he's trans in all my stories, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Trauma, Teenagers, Teenagers Dealing With Shit, The future sucks, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Bart Allen, Trauma, Triggers, You expect too much, give me time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5
Summary: Cassie and Bart get stuck in a collapsed cavern mid-mission.No comns. No way out.Their new ceiling of rock is raining dust and debris... and it reminds him of ash.
Relationships: Bart Allen & Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Cassie Sandsmark
Series: let's dance in the kitchen and call it something like love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665436
Comments: 16
Kudos: 159





	the world does not stop

Bart remembers.

When he was young- and he must have been young. Small. Before the Reach had caught them. Before Mom and Dad had died. Before  _ Wally  _ had died, and the resistance had completely fallen apart, back when they had been on the run but relatively safe.

He had felt full for the first time in weeks: the grey had been lighter, today, a small sheen of smog in the sky. They hadn’t even been wearing masks, the air felt so clean, and there had been grass.

Barefoot. The grass had been dried and yellowed and almost dead. But not yet, not yet, and he had laughed and ran around, the lawn crunching under his feet, getting between his toes.

Running, running-  _ speeding- _

Half a mile away in a blink, and then half a second later his dad was there, a blurry imprint of blonde hair and a twinkling grin swooping him up warm and steady into scarred arms, his deep voice rumbling Bart’s chest, going, “Control, kiddo, you have to stay in control of that crazy speed of yours!”

His dad has spun him around, a clumsy dance right there in the middle of a field at the end of civilization. Bart had laughed, kicked his legs, and screached happily when the man had sped back in a blur of rushing wind and light, the world a giant spinning top, unstoppable and spinning on and on and on-

Bart remembers. 

There is no wind, now. There is no light. His head is full of painful cracks. The air is full of dust. He can’t find his comn. He can’t find  _ anything,  _ the cavern having collapsed on top of him, leaving him in the dark.

Bart thinks he’s shaking.

Not a lot. Not anything anyone would  _ notice  _ if you weren't a speedster. But enough. Enough. There’s something like panic climbing up his throat and he pushes it down because now isn’t the time and this is all  _ so not crash- _

_ “Bart!” _ someone says, just under the level of the shout. It’s not the first time the person has said it.

He focuses. Cassie-  _ No, in costume, Wondergirl-  _ in front of him. Looking grimy and bruised but otherwise unharmed. 

She smiles when she notices she’s gotten his attention, a glint of white teeth in the dark.

And it is dark. Down here. Because they’re trapped.  _ Trapped.  _ The explosions had been detonating all around them and he didn’t know, didn’t realize, had dodged one only to step right into another blast, and he’d been sent flying backwards. Windergirl had flown up to catch him, only for yet another discharge to send them reeling, the treacherous caverns coming down on top of them.

He wants everything to pause, just for a moment. Just so he can catch his breath. He wants the world to stop because he’s dizzy and disoriented and trapped between times.

(The world does not stop.)

“Hey,” she says, and his focus snaps back to her from where it wondered, thoughts fast and dripping out of his ears, spilling to the floor before he can cup them properly into his palms. Like the eggs Grandma Iris makes. Like a bar of soap. Like blood, seeping from a wound because small fingers can’t  _ keep it in- _

“Bart, you okay?”

He inhales. Exhales. Dust is raining from above as the rest of their team fights and more bombs detonate. It’s getting into his mouth, into his lungs.

He thinks he’s hit his head. He can feel it, that distorted pain, the way it's making his thoughts wibbly wobbly. The ringing in his ears. He feels unsteady, unstable, and the sensation is already fading, fading, fading-

He still has his speed. He can still run. He’s trapped but he can still  _ run. _

“Bart?”

She sounds worried. He’s worrying her. He needs to- He can’t-

He has to keep it together. 

_Smile. Wider._ _C’mon, man, so not crash, c’mon-_

“I’m fine,” he says, the words rasping dry and heavy.

Bart does not feel fine.

But Cassie laughs, settles a rough hand on his shoulder: he fights the urge to flinch.

“Heh,” she starts, already moving on, already working the problem, “You had me worried! Any ideas on how to get out of here?”

_ Run, _ Bart wants to say, but he can’t, he  _ can’t. _ Who knows how much debris is in front of them? He can’t hold his breath forever and if there’s any exposed electrical live wires-

Well. Even as a speedster, being electrocuted is not fun.

He should know.

So he can still run but he’s still  _ trapped.  _ Blesses and curses wrapped into one.

A jarring boom echoes from farther along the way, shaking their small pocket of safety. He tenses and shivers and tastes dirt on his tongue.

“No,” he breathes, too breathy, too tight. He tries again and it sounds more normal, even if it’s a little clipped. “Fresh out of ideas. You?”

She peers around in the darkness, and if he squints he can just barely catch the glint of her gold bracers. 

“I don’t think I can shift anything without knowing what’s safe to move: I don’t wanna crush us. Guess we’ll just have to wait to be rescued, eh?”

He nods, too fast, too much. He might be using superspeed. He might be shaking a little.

“Heh,” he says, even though it’s not funny, “heh, right.”

He wants to tear his own hair out. He hates this, he  _ hates  _ this, the panic gathering in his gut. He hates the dark. He hates the dust. He hates the echoing explosions, because he’s been trapped in places like this before, chained in places like this before, collar heavy around his neck and chains around his feet and the mines-

_ The mines- _

Cassie slips her hand down from his shoulder to his wrists, holding loosely, giving them a little shake. Gentle, gentle, like he’s made of glass.

He feels like glass. Her fingers are like feathers and it’s sending irritating ants up and down his spine. He wants to yell, rip away, snap at her. He feels like he’s been shattered. He feels like someone’s struck him and now he’s ringing, ringing, ringing-

“Bart, are you sure you’re okay?”

He breathes.

“Yeah,” he says. Tries to say. It doesn’t come out. Won’t come out. It curls up on his tongue and dies, escaping in a huff of air instead of any sound.

_ Control,  _ he thinks,  _ you have to stay in control,  _ and everything inside of him rattles.

And then another explosion goes off. Louder. Closer, this time. Right above their heads, maybe, and everything is shaking and shaking and he’s stumbling and falling and it’s all so  _ loud too loud too much too close- _

“Shit,” Bart hisses between clenched teeth, and the world around him shakes and shudders, an echoing boom rattling his core as another explosion goes off, the collapsing cavern spraying out debris and dust.

It’s dirt. It’s cement and soil. It’s nothing,  _ nothing- _

But it tastes like ash on his tongue.

He coughs. He trembles. His head  _ hurts.  _ He can’t run.

It tastes like ash. On his tongue.  _ Ash. _

He breathes.

It catches in his throat.

Cassie is calling for him. She sounds so far away- sounds too close. His head is going in circles and he can’t hold it together. All he can hear are the explosions:  _ boom, boom, BOOM.  _ All he can hear is the ringing in his ears.

“Shit,” he says again, and he hates how his voice cracks.

His fingers are shaking, spasming. He curls them into dark cement and tries to ground himself.  _ Ash on his tongue  _ and it’s only dirt.  _ The mine pressing down deep and dark  _ but it’s just a mission, just a collapsed underground cave, it’s just-

Something. Touches him-

On his neck.

_ On his neck. _

He jerks. He will not be collared. He cannot be collared-  _ SomethingJustTouchedHimOnHisNeckandIt’sTheCollarTheyFoundHimOHGodsTheyFoundHimAshOnHisTongueTheMinesTheyFoundHimCollaredCapturedTrappedTrappedTrapped- _

“Bart!”

Cassie.

_ Cassie. _

Not the Reach.

_ (The Reach found himtheyfoundhimtooloudtoomuchboomBoomBOOM-) _

He breathes and it feels like fire. It’s mixing with the ice in his lungs and he’s choking on the steam, choking on the  _ ash- _

She reaches out to touch him again. He scrambles back, back, hits hard collapsed cement and curls into himself, small, like he’s preparing for a blow. But _ he’s _ the hit, he’s the explosion, he’s imploding, he’s beating himself up from the inside out.

And he rasps,  _ “Don’t-”  _ and it shouldn’t feel so much like a victory.

But Cassie freezes, inches away. Retreats. 

The world is falling apart all around them and Bart sits and he breathes and he breathes and he tries to put all his shattered pieces back together. The feeling of his suit is too much and he wants to tear it off. The gravel is hard underneath him and he wants to dig, to burrow his way down so dark and so deep no one will ever find him. There is ash falling from the sky, from the collapsed ceiling. The mines are deep and cold and he’s not there, not there  _ notthereanymore- _

Another explosion rattles their chamber, things shifting all around them, and he stuffs grimy fingers into his mouth and  _ bites _ , hard, teeth tearing into flesh and blood dribbling down onto his knees. It will heal in a minute, in two, but it’s grounding.

Cassie reaches out for him again, making a sound like she’s been the one who was wounded, and Bart trembles and shakes his head and hisses, “Don’t,  _ don’t touch me, don’tdon’tdon’tdon’t-” _

She responds with a voice that is shrill and angry and a little terrified.

_ “Then don’t fucking hurt yourself-” _

But she pulls back, pulls away, and it’s enough for him to focus again.

They fall into silence. He’s breathing ragged and she’s breathing pissed off, air whistling between her clenched teeth. The battle moves farther away above them, and with each fading boom Bart relaxes in increments.

When he feels like he’s got some semblance of control, he reaches a hand out. The not bloody one. Extends a pinky and it feels like a peace offering, like an apology. He does not lift his head from his knees.

But he hears her as she sighs, feels it as she taps her pinky against his own and then wraps around tight. It’s almost too much, but he tenses his shoulders and lets the small bridge of connection stay.

And they sit there in the dark that is not a mine, breathing in dust that is not ash, and Bart tries to subtly wipe his eyes and Cassie tries to not squeeze too hard.

Both of them are failing, but it’s the thought that counts.

They sit there for ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Hours.  _ Years.  _ Time slips through his fingers like sand, and he can’t keep track, can’t even begin to try. It’s spilling to the ground like his thoughts, like blood, like the ash- like the  _ dirt- _

Above them, the battle rages on.

He’s cold, all over. His fingers tremble and spasm and vibrate. His chest isn’t much better. He is a blur of extended motion and terror and  _ panic, _ and he hates it, hates the lack of control, hates that Cassie has to see, and yet so incredibly relieved that he’s not  _ alone. _

The explosions start getting closer again, ash- dust-  _ ash- _ falling heavier and heavier as they do. He thinks he makes a noise, because Cassie makes one in turn, and then she leans in closer in increments and whispers, “Hey, hey Bart- can I try something.”

He swallows dry. Twitches his shoulder. The words are all of a sudden not coming: they’re trapped in his lungs, taking up all the room meant for air.

“I’m gonna pull us up, okay? I’m gonna hug you a bit.”

This sounds like an  _ awful _ idea.

But he’s exhausted. And he’s cold. And he doesn’t want her to go.

He nods, and it shouldn’t feel so brave.

Standing up is dizzying, and he grits dirty fingernails into Cassie’s forearms as he tries to catch his sense of balance, tries to resist the urge to just collapse back to the ground and just  _ tremble _ until all this over. 

And then she’s pulling him into a loose hug, her chin digging into his hair, arms warm and secure around him. For a few breath-snatching moments they feel like restraints, but it’s too cold for metal and smells too much of  _ Cass  _ to be the Reach, and so he settles.

And then she starts to hum, out of tune and gentle, rotating them round and round. Rocking him, back and forth, the explosions providing the melody and ash raining in their hair.

It’s like dancing. He focuses on his steps, tries to block out everything else.

His chest hurts from wheezing. It will fade in a few minutes.

It always does.

_ Fading, fading, fading- _

_ Breathe. _

And he does.

_ It’s like dancing, _ he tells himself, _ just like dancing. _ Cassie hums and they spin and both of them ignore the way he presses close and flinches into her collar bone as the booming detonations echo louder. Both of them ignore how his fingernails are making indents into her iron skin, white knuckled trembling grip.

The world does not stop. It is this infinite expanding inside his chest. It is stretching him open, pulling him apart. The world does not stop and it feels like he is collared, like he is slow, like he is breathless and trapped and aching.

He wants to run. For miles. For years. He wants to see everything and feel bare grass under his feet. He wants to jump and leap and sing to skies filled with nothing but great blue horizons.

The world ended- it broke and shattered and collapsed with ash filled lungs and broken ringing truths. The world ended but it did not stop, it kept spinning on and on and on.

Cassie hums out of tune. Bart breathes into the fabric of her costume and counts milliseconds, nanoseconds, the endlessness that is a single inhale, the infinity it is to let it all go.

Time slips from his hands like sand. He is sweating and trembling and the world is too loud and too much and spinning round and round and round. He’s sweating, he’s cold, his hands spasm and his throat rasps.

_ Breathe,  _ he thinks, and he does.

Wondergirl holds him, and it’s not a cure but it’s keeping him together, something grounding in the way her sternum vibrates as she hums, cupping the pieces of him his own small palms cannot hold. It’s the most shuffling dance in existence, but they spin around and around and around and it’s beautiful.

(Blonde hair, rumbling chest- he remembers.)

At some point, the explosions stop.

At some point, the dark breaks, and Superboy’s face leans into the welcoming light, burns tearing at his costume and concern flickering across his face. Cassie shakes her head, flies up with Bart still clinging to her like a limpet, vibrating and heavy and breathing coming in increments.

He’s so  _ tired. _

Barry ends up running over to pick him up. It’s embarrassing. It’s a relief. His knees feel shaky, like jelly, and he flashes a weak wave to the rest of the team and lets the older man sweep him onto his back and take him home.

That night he wipes angry hot tears into his pillow, and showers until his skin is raw and burning and  _ clean. _ That night he sleeps and dreams of the mines, of the collars, of the ash falling from the sky.

The world does not stop.

It ended, once, but Bart fixed it. He  _ fixed  _ it, and he can fix himself, too.

Tomorrow, he might dream of sunshine. Who is to say? If the world can break and still mend, he can too. There is an ache in his chest but it will fade. It will  _ fade. _

It always does.

_ Fading, fading, fading- _

Healing happens in increments. Pain is not infinite. It is not forever. The future has been rewritten with his small calloused hands and in the morning he will go outside and breathe fresh air. Next time he sees her, Cassie will hug him and whirl him around the room. They will get pizza, crack jokes, and they will be okay in all the moments they can grasp for themselves.

The world does not stop.

It  _ spins. _

Round and round and round.

Bart is more than all his broken parts. He is more than deep mines and shackled throats. He is laughter. He is sunshine. Bare feet on warm grass.

The world does not stop: it  _ dances _ .

On and on and on.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you have any people you'd like me to write dancing together next? It can be in the wider DCU: it doesn't necessarily have to be Young Justice.
> 
> (Though I haven't watched Season 3 yet, so maybe no spoilers for that?)
> 
> If you don't have anyone in mind, what's your favourite song about dancing? Or always has you dancing no matter how many times you listen to it? Or maybe just means a lot to you? I always love new music! <3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and stay safe lovelies.


End file.
